


Awakening

by izayoi_no_mikoto



Category: Togainu no Chi
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Self-Hatred, it's Keisuke okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2019-01-05 09:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izayoi_no_mikoto/pseuds/izayoi_no_mikoto
Summary: Keisuke comes to, and Akira is not there.





	Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Contains spoilers for Keisuke's bad routes.

Keisuke felt like death warmed over.

 _What_ , he thought muzzily.  His thoughts got no farther than that; his mind was foggy, as though his skull were stuffed with cobwebs and cotton balls.  Blearily, he opened his eyes, but his vision swam and swooned so much that he had to close them again before he threw up.

He groaned and tried to move, but his body was heavy and uncooperative, and he ached in muscles he didn't know he had.  He managed to roll onto his side and flop one arm over; his very bones felt like they were creaking.  The surface beneath him was cold.  Concrete.  He was lying on concrete.

_What happened?_

Keisuke took a deep breath, then prised his eyes open.  His vision still careened wildly, but at least he no longer felt like vomiting his intestines up.  He blinked slowly, and eventually his vision settled.

It was dark all around him–-night.  He was outside.  He was sprawled on the ground in some grimy backstreet, tucked away in a corner behind some broken, empty crates.  His left knee was wet–-he'd landed in a puddle of something he didn't want to think too hard about.  Odd patches of his clothes were strangely stiff, as though he'd been splashed with something that had congealed as it dried; his sleeves had received the worst of it, with most of the fabric having having dried plastered to his arms and the rest turned scratchy and stiff as board.  And his hands felt disgusting, like he'd plunged them in filth and never bothered to wash them afterward.

Keisuke pushed himself up, awkward and uncoordinated, until he was hunched on his knees and elbows.  He pressed one hand to his temple.   _How did I get here?_ he wondered.

It wasn't that his memory was blank; his mind was just too much of a jumble to separate one snippet of memory from the next, much less organize them into some semblance of order.  With a grunt, he shoved himself off the concrete and propped himself up against the gritty wall of the building behind him.  At last sitting somewhat upright, he screwed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyelids.   _Think, Keisuke, think_.

Igura.  That was right, he was in Toshima, taking part in Igura.  He was in Igura, out alone on the streets at night.  At least he'd had the good sense to collapse here in this dank, abandoned alley, where he wouldn't be easily found.  He was no good at fending for himself, and he was alone, so anyone could have snuck up on him and–-

He was alone.

Akira.

_Where's Akira?_

Keisuke's eyes snapped open.  He looked around wildly, but no, Akira was nowhere to be seen.

_What happened to Akira?_

Keisuke frowned.  His thoughts churned and tumbled over themselves, slow but picking up speed.  Something niggled at the back of his mind.  Something about Akira-–something–- _something_ –-

_Akira lying beneath him, teeth gritted, tears welling up but his eyes defiant–-_

_Akira's legs flexing, his fingers scrambling for purchase, his breath coming in pained moans–-_

_Akira, a smear of blood on his slack and pale face, his entire body limp, his stomach–-_

Keisuke reeled and went sliding back toward the ground.  He only barely caught himself, palms scraping raw against the cracked concrete, and then he vomited, or tried to.  His heaving stomach expelled nothing but a few dribs of bile and acid that burned all the way up.  He kept heaving anyway, because Akira–- _Akira_ –-

 _No_ , his mind said, crystal clear.  It was a nightmare, or a hallucination, or–-no, whatever it was, it wasn't real.  Akira wasn't–- _Keisuke_ wouldn't.  He would never, ever, _ever_ –-

At last his rebellious body subsided, and Keisuke slumped to the ground, wrung-out and spent.  He panted raggedly.  Bits of gravel dug into his cheek.  He closed his eyes and swallowed, forcing down the sourness and the horror.  But his memories slotted one by one into place, and he curled up on himself and moaned like a dying animal.   _No_ , he thought dully.   _No_.

"Akira," he whispered, and buried his face in his hands.  They smelled like iron.

**Author's Note:**

> (Inspired by the prompt: exactly 700 words of anything)


End file.
